Chapter 22
Alas, poor husband! He must now practice that virtue he most notably lacks: forbearance.
It falls to his new position as vice president to say nothing when he is among the Senate.
He is not to contribute to the general debate, nor to vote, excepting occasions of a draw.
In this, he feels that he is nothing and everything, but most distinctly nothing. What a blow for the pride of this man!
As for myself, the social obligations of being the wife of such a distinguished figure increase from day to day, as though I have some influence to share. It is nothing if not hectic, and I feel that day shall be a happy one when I can say I have no engagement but to my family.
Abigail
“This is the most insignificant office that the invention of man ever contrived or his imagination conceived.”
Abigail rolled her eyes and shook her head, convinced she had already heard that exact complaint from her husband during the time he had been named as the vice president of the United States.
The reason for the complaint today? The salary designated by Congress for the vice president was to be one-fifth that of the salary for the president, which John thought was a significant insult to the man who would stand beside the president.
But that was the crux of his role, unfortunately. Standing beside the president. John felt useless and bored, when he wasn’t irritated by the number of friends asking him for favors and jobs in the government, now that he had a place in it.
His position had required them to move from their lovely Braintree to New York, and Abigail had only just arrived the week before. John had been cantankerous, as per usual, and her arrival had given him the chance to voice the causes of his moods.
She listened, of course, but for the most part, she was allowing herself to be charmed by Richmond House, the place John had rented for their time in New York.
It was already her favorite residence they had shared; there was no question about that.
The quaint house sat atop a hill that overlooked the Hudson River, offering a view that was both spectacular and sublime.
It was a place of blessed reprieve from all else in the world.
The fact that their present residence was not far from Nabby and her family did not harm its prospects either.
Nabby had recently given birth to a second son, John Adams Smith, and Abigail delighted in all opportunities to be the doting grandmother to both the newborn and William, now a precocious toddler.
But, as always, John’s career and the trappings that came with it ruled her life. She was not bitter about this, for what would that serve? She was accepting and making the best of it, as always.
Such as now.
Abigail heaved a sigh that her husband would almost certainly hear and judge. “Using such elevated language, John. Are you preparing another speech I must correct?”
John gave her a hard look. “No, Abigail, I am not. I do use my education when dictating my own language, even if it is not always apparent.”
“I am relieved to hear that it is being applied at last,” she shot back with a quirked brow before returning her attention to the letter before her.
“Some men actually have biddable, pleasant wives, you know.”
“Some women have humble, tender husbands too. Alas.”
Her husband grunted and continued muttering under his breath as he moved to a wingback chair, opening his newspaper rather noisily. Abigail did her best not to smile at his slight tantrum, but knew she failed. Still, her letter was engaging enough that she did not fake her interest there.
Well, perhaps not engaging as much as concerning.
Antoinette had written her, and though it had taken some time to reach her, she was grateful to hear from her friend.
Her heart ached for the poor woman. France was becoming a cruel place for its queen, and the number of people who seemed to be delighted by the descent was alarming.
Even in the United States, rumors were swirling of the rabid masses clawing to tear down the nobility and monarchy.
Words like revolution were being thrown about, parallels being drawn between their own break from England. There was a growing sense of encouragement to remove the royal family.
How could Abigail possibly hope to explain to these people that it was not the same thing at all?
They had been a colony of a monarchy, not the homeland.
They had not rid themselves of a royal family, only separated from them in an official capacity.
The royal family had not been in danger here, because the royal family did not reside here.
France was different. Antoinette and her children were there, living and breathing while people jeered and mocked them to their faces.
And Antoinette’s fears over losing her son broke Abigail’s heart. It was a foregone conclusion, apparently, and she could not imagine the pain in watching a child fade away like that. Knowing there would be no recovery. Grieving slowly and steadily, but never completely.
And then there was Antoinette’s husband.
Much as Abigail might tease John and make light of his nature, she adored that he was so decisive and driven. She loved his passionate nature, even when it bordered on reckless, and his single-mindedness. He was exciting and eager, and his respect for her was always evident.
But Louis was indecisive, easily overwhelmed, and frequently backed into a corner by those over whom he ought to have authority.
Over whom he did have authority, even if he did not exert it.
She did not know the details of how Louis had been raised and shaped into the man he was now, but she suspected it had not been particularly beneficial for a future king.
In rather unkind terms, he was a weak king. And France was treading all over him.
At least he cared for Antoinette and their children. There was mutual respect, as far as she was aware and could tell, and it seemed to her that Louis was the sort of man who could have lived a quiet and uncomplicated life as a good husband and father with very few complaints.
Unfortunately, he had been destined for authority, power, and a throne of one of the most influential nations in the world.
A nation that was failing.
How in the world was Abigail supposed to comfort her friend amidst all of this?
“The furnishings here look excellent, Abigail,” John told her suddenly, pulling her from all thoughts of France. “You’ve situated everything so well.”
Turning in her chair, Abigail gave him a bemused look. “Do you know how arduous and tiresome it was to pack up all of our belongings again, some of which came with us from London, and bring them here just as I had gotten everything well arranged?”
His smile was a trifle sheepish. “I apologize that my appointment to this position has been an inconvenience to your running the household.”
Abigail narrowed her eyes at him in warning. “Are you mocking my frustrations and challenges, John Adams?”
“Not at all,” he said quickly, his expression morphing into utter sincerity. “I am filled to the brim with gratitude for your magnanimity.”
“I am sure you are.” Abigail folded Antoinette’s letter and set it aside, needing to let the situation and her friend’s words brew in her mind for a time before replying. “Have you heard anything more about Charles?”
With the mention of their second son, John’s expression darkened, much to her disappointment.
John had high expectations for his children, especially his sons, and Charles was perfectly adept at disappointing those expectations, rather how Charlotte expressed her disappointment in the Prince of Wales.
There had been that horrid ordeal with the riot on Thanksgiving Day at Harvard over a year ago, and, though they had convinced him to stay away from the rabble that seemed to be his friends, he continued to find himself in more trouble as his education went on.
Charles certainly never intended to make trouble; he simply did nothing to avoid it.
Charlotte’s son seemed to seek out trouble for his parents.
Perhaps Charles was the lesser of two disappointing sons.
“Yes, and no,” John replied cagily. “I have not heard from Charles, but I have heard of him. I will spare you the details of his latest mischief, but I believe he should come to New York after graduation.”
“To be here with us?” Abigail asked, her mothering heart beating wildly at the prospect.
John nodded. “And he will study law here at the office of Alexander Hamilton.”
Abigail’s brows rose in shock. “Mr. Hamilton? Is he aware of this arrangement?”
“He is, and I shall explain to Charles the importance of his making a good impression, as well as Hamilton’s generosity in giving him this opportunity. It is not through Charles’s own merits this has happened, I can assure you.”
Since Abigail could not refute that statement and defend her son, she bit her tongue and remained silent.
Perhaps it would be best if Charles did not attend the commencement and came to them straightaway when his coursework was completed.
But to curry favor with his father and give a show of good faith, she would suggest that Charles make the proposal to do so and pretend she knew nothing about it.
That should encourage John a little about their son’s future.
Heaven knew, John had enough to be getting on with in his current position.
Mr. Washington was doing very well as president, impressing everyone with his impartial judgment and independent thought.
He never acted without receiving information from several quarters, and then judging only when satisfied with what was compiled.
No one seemed capable of influencing him, of which John approved highly.